


Steve Rogers Is A Cherry Tree Killing Liar

by Rambutans



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3279692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rambutans/pseuds/Rambutans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers lies to Natasha Romanov and regrets it enormously.  Bucky Barnes just needs a couple extra hundred bucks for rent.  Sam Wilson brings fluffernutters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Internet Predator

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Against my better judgment, I am posting this.  
> 2\. Bucky's craigslist ad is lifted almost word-for-word from a post about a real craigslist ad I saw on tumblr several months ago. I was a huge idiot and lost my link to it but Selfsong managed to find it for me!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! [So here is the link to it!](http://selfsong.tumblr.com/post/104858740599/did-anyone-take-him-up-on-this-i-want-a-follow)  
> 3\. I am actually fucking crazy about getting characterization correct in my fics, and because of the sheer number of stucky fic I have read I am constantly second guessing whether my characterization of certain characters is based off of fandom or canon, so PLEASE if anyone comes off as out of character TELL ME ABOUT IT. I want to know. I have to know.  
> 4\. I am practicing PERSONAL GOAL SETTING, so as long as everything goes according to plan, this fic will update at least once a week, ideally every monday. I have a decent amount of it already written, so there is a bit of a cushion built up for it as well.  
> 5\. Thank you for reading please enjoy my garbage fic. ;___;

Steve never meant to let it go this far.  It was just a little fib to get Nat and Sam off his back about finding someone to bring to Tony’s Starksgiving party.  He was just so sick of them giving him puppy dog eyes - in Sam’s case - and raised eyebrows - in Natasha’s - every time they saw a good looking guy or gal on the street.  All because they thought he was still moping around about Peggy moving back to London, which happened _six months_ ago, for their information, and she and Steve had both known from the start that it was only going to last as long as the war did anyway.  And if Steve _was_ still moping a little bit, so what.  It wasn’t any of their business.

 

So last week when Nat and Sam had double whammied him with urgent, painfully un-subtle expressions of suggestion towards a thick armed brunette girl in line at Starbucks, he decided that enough was enough.  “Listen, guys, I appreciate your concern,” he said, raising his hands, one of which was holding a black coffee that may or may not have been burning through the first layer of flesh on his palm because he had forgotten to put a sleeve on it. “But I already got somebody.”

 

Sam looked elated, but Natasha squinted at him and said, “Who?”

 

“You don’t know him,” Steve said, switching his coffee to his other hand as he pushed past the glass doors and out onto the crowded street.  “He lives in Jersey.”

 

“How did you meet him, then?” Natasha asked, standing directly in the path of the Starbucks entrance and effectively blocking numerous caffeine deprived patrons from entering the building.  “You don’t use the internet.  I should know, I can count the number of times you’ve answered my skype calls on one hand.” At least three citizens behind her were growing steadily irritated at her self-imposed blockade in front of Starbucks, and one of them made a brazen attempt to push her out of the way.  He got as far as a hand on her elbow before she whirled around and snapped at him, “hey genius, there are _two_ doors,” she then turned back to Steve.

 

“Maybe we should move this conversation outside of the Hunger Games arena,” Sam said.

 

“I met him through work,” Steve said.

 

“Oh, work, hmm?” Natasha took a long sip of her coffee, staring at Steve over the rim of her cup.

 

“Isn’t that hot?” Sam asked.

 

“Yeah, he’s the friend of a client.”  Steve said.

 

Natasha hummed and then said, “Fine, you’ll bring him to Stark’s party.  If you’re dating this guy he’s going to need approval from the council.”

 

“ _Natasha-_ ,”

 

“Come on Wilson, we better get going.  See you around, Rogers.” Natasha took Sam by the arm, steered him around the crowd that had formed behind them, and headed them both off down the street and away from Steve.  It was a blatant challenge and Steve knew it.  The fact of the matter was that Natasha _knew_ he was lying and nobody just _got away_ with lying to Natasha.  Unless they were a really fucking good liar.  Which Steve was not.

 

He watched them go for a bit and then turned around with a sigh and started back towards his apartment.  Halfway there he took a courageous sip of his coffee and burned the ever-loving fuck out of his tongue, which is how Steve Rogers found himself sitting in front of his computer, obsessively rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth while trying to think of a way to write a craigslist personal ad for a fake boyfriend without making himself sound like a complete psycho.

 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to think for very long. As he was perusing the various other posted personals, thinking that maybe he had decided to go to the wrong website, he found an ad titled, _Need a one-time fake date?  Professional fake boyfriend for hire!_ which, frankly sounded ridiculous and completely like a scam, but also was exactly what Steve was looking for so, against his better judgment, he clicked the link.

 

_I am a 28 year old felon with no high school degree, and a dirty old van one year younger than me painted like Eddie Van Halen’s guitar.  I can pass for anywhere between the ages of 20 and 29 depending on whether I shave.  I’m a line cook and work late nights at a bar.  If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for a holiday or family event, but pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you to torment your family, I’m your guy._

 

_I can do these things at your request:_

 

_Openly hit on other guests while you act like you don’t notice._

 

_Start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion._

 

_Propose to you in front of everyone._

 

_Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry, I don’t drink, but I used to.  A lot.  Too much in fact.  I know the drill)._

 

_Start an actual, physical fight with a family member or friend, either inside or on the front lawn/sidewalk for all the neighbors/pedestrians to see._

 

_Prices vary and are determined on a case by case basis._

 

The only form of contact was a phone number and Steve didn’t even stop to think about whether or not this guy could be a serial killer before he had it typed into his phone.  He wasn’t stupid enough to give out his address anyway, so what was the worst that could happen?  He gets repeatedly hit on by some panting horny loser and has to change his number?  It could be worse.  Probably.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Uh,” Steve said, and then panicked at the realization that he had to actually _ask_ this guy to be his fake date now that he’d dialed his number.  “Um, I saw your craigslist ad.”

 

“Oh, yeah?”  There was a shuffling sound, like the guy switched the phone to his other ear.  “You interested?”

 

Steve swallowed.  This guy didn’t necessarily _sound_ like a panting horny loser, but you could never be too careful.  “Yeah, I guess, um, are you available Thanksgiving weekend?”

 

Craigslist guy hummed and then said, “I might be, you want me _all_ weekend?”

 

“Well, my friend usually holds us all hostage until monday morning, but, you could probably duck out sooner than that if you had to.”  Steve said.

 

“For an entire weekend, it’s gonna cost you.”

 

“How much?”

 

“Depends,” the guy said.

 

“On what?”

 

“A lot.  Look, if you’re serious about this I need to meet you in person so we can hash out the details.  I like to look my clients in the face before I agree to be their fake boyfriend, so do you got a coffee shop or someplace you like to go, and are you free Wednesday afternoon?”

 

“Yeah, I’m free.  I don’t want to go to someplace near me though, if my friends see me having coffee with somebody I’ll never hear the end of it.”

 

“There’s a Panera Bread near my place on 45th in Brooklyn, how does that sound?”

 

“Sounds like as good a place as any, I guess.”

 

“Great.  It’s a date then….” The guy trailed off at the end of the sentence expectantly and it took Steve an embarrassing amount of time to figure out why.

 

“Steve,” Steve said.  “Steve Rogers.”

 

“Bucky Barnes.  I’ll see you on Wednesday, Steve.  And hey, lighten up buddy, it’s not like I’m gonna mug you and steal your lunch money.”

 

@@@@

 

Panera, like every other chain restaurant at noon in Brooklyn, was packed.  Steve wasn’t quite hungry enough to justify waiting in a line that was quickly approaching the front doors, so he decided to bypass buying anything at all and instead pulled out his phone and scrolled through his recent calls until he found Bucky’s number.  At this point, Steve figured the least he could do for his dignity was not make an idiot of himself by asking every random stranger sitting by themselves if they were “the guy from craigslist, Bucky Barnes.”

 

On the second ring, Bucky picked up.  “Yeah?”

 

“Hi, uh, Bucky?  It’s me Steve.  Are you at the Panera yet?”

 

“Sure am, pal.  Check the back, next to the bathrooms.”

 

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

 

Bucky hung up on him before he could say anything else and Steve allowed himself half a second to be annoyed that he would just _hang up_ but then he had to face navigating the swarm of people waiting for their food which was more than enough to occupy his annoyance.

 

Eventually Steve managed to find his way around the drinks dispenser and past the pick-up counter to the back of the Panera where, next to a dark hallway labeled “restrooms,” one moderately scruffy looking fella sat alone at a corner booth. He definitely fit the description of “ex-felon,” Steve thought, eying Bucky’s hair which was barely contained by the ponytail he had put it in.  The rings around his eyes were disconcertingly dark as well, but his smile looked friendly enough as Steve sat down, and it seemed like he had at least washed his hair fairly recently, so when he extended a hand for Steve to shake and said, “You must be Steve,” Steve took it and replied in kind.

 

“So, what do you have to know to give me a quote?  Because I’m gonna be honest-”

 

“First of all,” Bucky said, reaching across the table with both hands, gesturing for Steve to stop talking.  Steve did but he also scowled at Bucky’s hands.  “Don’t worry about it.  I just like to meet people before I set a price because,” Bucky’s mouth quirked up at one corner and he leaned across the table, “if I’m going to have to pretend to be into you for an entire weekend, I wanna make sure I _can_ pretend to be into you for an entire weekend before I give you a quote.  But I can already tell you that won’t be an issue,” he winked as he said this and Steve couldn’t tell if it was endearing or repulsive but he was leaning towards repulsive.

 

“You might not be so sure about that once you get to know me,” Steve said.

 

Bucky shrugged.  “Doubt it.  So, down to business then:  My going rate is a hundred bucks a date, however,” Bucky held up a hand and Steve had to stare at it for a moment before he realized it was _metal_. “I’ve never actually agreed to a date that lasted longer than one night before, but you’re cute, so I’m willing to cut you a deal:  two-hundred for the whole weekend.  I’m going to have to nix Sunday night though. I’ve got a prior engagement Monday morning that I can’t back out of.”

 

Steve thought about it for a moment, staring at the graining plastic Panera countertop.  On the one hand, he could probably get away with telling Natasha that his “boyfriend” couldn’t make it.  On the other, she would absolutely call his bluff if he couldn’t provide on-the-spot proof of a relationship, which, let’s face it, there was no universe in which Steve would be able to do that without actually _being_ in a relationship.

 

So it was down to this:  Pay some stranger two-hundred dollars to get Natasha and Sam off his back, or suck it up and admit that he had lied.  It really wasn’t a difficult decision to make. “How do you want to be paid?” Steve asked, looking back up at Bucky.

 

“Cash only.  I take half up front and half after.”

 

“So what will you do, exactly?”

 

“That’s up to you, buddy.”

 

Steve thought about this and then said, “What _won’t_ you do?”

 

For the first time in the conversation, Bucky’s smile slipped slightly and he said, “It’s not a huge list, but there are a few things.  First,” he held up a metal finger and Steve tried not to stare at it.  “I won’t have sex with you, no kissing either, I basically won’t do anything _actually_ romantic with you.  Standard visitation rules, you get one embrace when we show up, and one when we leave.”

 

“That sounds fair,” Steve said.

 

“I also won’t actually harm anybody in your family or friend group.  I’ll get into a fight with ‘em, sure, but I ain’t gonna cripple your weird uncle for you.  Beyond that, it’s pretty much up to you.  I can do charming perfect boyfriend just as well as I can do dangerous greaser from hell, you just give the word.”

 

“Can you do a bit of both?”

 

A contemplative expression crossed Bucky’s face briefly before he said, “Yeah, why not.  What’ve you got in mind?”

 

“Well,” Steve said, “Thing is, I actually _like_ my friends.  I don’t want you to beat ‘em up, and I need them to believe I’d _actually_ date you, so don’t go around flirting with everybody you lay eyes on or they’ll know something’s up.  But I definitely don’t want them to _like_ you.  I won’t lie, you’ll be walking a tightrope.”

 

“I can do that,” Bucky said.  “I enjoy a challenge.  So these are your friends, not your family?”

 

Steve nodded.

 

Bucky turned to rifle through a messenger bag sitting next to him.  He pulled out a pen and notepad and then asked, “Republicans or Democrats?”

 

“Democrats mostly, I guess, but you’re not going to get anything out of them by playing it conservative.  They’ll probably just think they’re having a great time torturing you all night.  And you won’t be able to play the religion card either, we’re all on a pretty broad spectrum there, with not a lot of room for exclusion.”

 

Bucky sighed and said, “Well what would you suggest then?”

 

“If you can show any of them up somehow and then be an asshole about it, you’ll be off to a good start, but it’ll be hard.”

 

An irritated look flitted across Bucky’s face and he said, “Look, pal, I’m not going to hone some kinda specific skillset just so I can one up your buddies.”

 

“No, no, no,” Steve said, “I’m not asking you to do anything like that, just,” he made an abortive gesture towards Bucky, “can I ask - is your arm prosthetic?”  It was a stupid question.  The arm was _obviously not real_ , but Steve felt like it was maybe a topic that he should approach with caution and so, well, he tried.

 

Bucky’s eyes flickered from his arm to Steve, expression slightly guarded before he asked, “Why?”

 

“Well,” Steve said, “My friend Tony - he’s hosting the party - is a robotic engineer, and that,” Steve motioned towards Bucky’s arm, “looks pretty advanced.  Like years ahead of anything he’s worked on.  If you brag about it, it would probably piss him off.  He kind of thinks he’s God.” Bucky stared at him for a moment and Steve said, “As long as that’s not something you’d be uncomfortable with.”

 

After another second, Bucky spinned the pen in his hand and said, “Nope.  Flaunt robot arm excessively.  Got it.”  He wrote as he spoke and then looked back to Steve when he was finished.  “Any other suggestions?”

 

“Sure, yeah,” Steve said, and finally settled back into his seat a little.  “You don’t have to worry so much about Natasha and Sam, I can do most of the work from my end by acting annoyed with you.  They’ll be ticked off just because of that.  Clint will dislike you as long as Natasha does so that’s not very difficult either - just make sure you don’t talk to him at all, he tends to like people once he talks to them.  I don’t actually want you to make Bruce angry, so just don’t.  Fury’s a little bit hard to predict, but whatever you do, make sure you do it before he gets drunk, otherwise anything goes.  And Maria will hate you on principle if you’re rude to Fury.  Thor is easy: trash talk his little brother - he’s on the Brooklyn City Council.  Anybody else who shows up will be a plus one, so you’ll have to wing it from there.  Oh, but, be nice to Pepper.  She puts up with enough as it is.”

 

Bucky kept his head down, scribbling into his notebook the entire time Steve talked.  When he finally stopped, Bucky sat up and whistled kind of loudly.  “That’s quite a list you gave me.”

 

“I like to be thorough,” Steve said.

 

“Right, so are you looking more for borderline douchebag, or unintentionally inconsiderate, here?”

 

“Unintentionally inconsiderate, no one would believe I’d put up with you otherwise.  Like I said, you’ll be walking a fine line.”

 

A smirk pulled at Bucky’s lips, “I think I can handle it,” he said, and sat upright.  “All I need now is a time and place, you want me to pick you up or should I come separately?”

 

“You can pick me up,” Steve said, and held his hand out, motioning for Bucky to give him the pencil and paper.  Bucky did and Steve wrote down the cross streets a few blocks from his apartment.  “You can pick me up here, the party starts at seven on Friday, so be here by six-thirty at least.  I can give you directions to Tony’s from there.”

 

“So you don’t actually want me for thanksgiving day?”  Bucky asked.

 

Steve shook his head.  “A few of us actually do have family still, and Tony likes to go shopping on Friday morning so.”

 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment but his expression smoothed out quickly and he grinned “Alright, then,” he said reaching over the table with one hand, “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Steve.”

 

“Sure,” Steve said and took his hand.   He appreciated the firmness of Bucky’s shake.  Most people tended to grip Steve’s hand like it was a delicate glass sculpture, waiting to be broken at the slightest touch.  “Thank you, for this.”

 

“Hey,” Bucky said, shoving his paper and pencil back into his messenger bag.  “You’re the one paying me, thank yourself.”

 

@@@@

 

Steve didn’t speak to Bucky again until the Friday after Thanksgiving, although he did add Bucky to his contacts list under the name “Internet Predator”, partially because he thought it was funny, partially because he was a little bit nervous about it being true, and partially in the hopes that Nat or Sam would take his phone away at some point during the weekend and freak out over it.

 

It was only as he closed the door to his apartment building, bundled up in three layers of clothes plus a coat that his phone pinged with a new text from _Internet Predator_.  Steve chuckled to himself before checking it, and then chuckled again when all it said was: _I’m on my way_.  Five minutes later, when Steve was standing at the designated street corner, he got another text from _Internet Predator_ that said: _I’m almost there_ , and he chuckled for a third time.  Then he texted Bucky back asking if he was texting and driving but got no response.

 

Bucky wasn’t lying about his car.  It looked like a Franz Kline painting rolling to a graceful stop just close enough to the curb that Steve didn’t have to step into the already slushy street gutter to get inside.  The first thing he noticed as he fastened himself into the old, square, metal seat belt, was that Bucky’s car smelled like a spearmint air freshener and that it was 30% cleaner than Steve had been expecting it to be.

 

The second thing Steve noticed was Bucky, who had combed his hair and left it out of the ponytail in some kind of attempt at styling which didn’t look great, but didn’t look totally horrible either.

 

He was also wearing a suit.  Steve didn’t want to use the word sharp but it popped into his head anyway.

 

“So where am I going?” Bucky asked, pulling away from the curb without signaling or checking his mirrors.

 

“Stark Tower, Manhattan.” Steve said.  

 

The car jerked forward when Bucky slammed on the clutch and said, “Tony Stark, your friend Tony who’s into robots is _Tony Stark_.”

 

“Yeah, I - Yeah I thought that was kind of obvious?” Steve said.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky fumbled with the stick and the car started rolling again in a repetitive lurch that Steve was worried might make him motion sick if Bucky didn’t watch it.

 

“It’s not going to be a problem is it?”

 

“No.  Just, warn a guy next time before you hire them to be your fake boyfriend at a party hosted by a billionaire playboy robot fighter.” Bucky said.  “I would’a worn a nicer suit.”

 

Steve smiled.  “I think the suit you’re wearing is already a little bit overkill.”

 

“Good,” Bucky said and grinned back at him.

 


	2. Fluffernutters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky's plans quickly backfire in the wake of Natasha's superior intellect and blatant disregard for social boundaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get as much of a chance to proof this as I would have wanted to because I'm deciding to post it a day early due to the unlikelihood that I will be online tomorrow. So. Again. I'm mostly worried about everyone being in character, but if you catch any other mistakes please let me know!

Steve instructed Bucky to pull into the “guest drive” when they got to Stark Tower.  It looked more like a really fucking nice hotel valet pull up.  As it turned out, that’s exactly what it actually was.  An extremely stereotypical looking butler, who introduced himself as Jarvis, took Bucky’s keys as soon as he and Steve stepped out.  He eyed Bucky’s car with a great deal of obvious personal confliction before getting inside of it and driving around the curved entrance, towards a gated lot with at least two enormous, red _private parking_ signs bolted to either end of its motorized gate.  Amazingly, it wasn’t until Steve let them into the back, apparently _private_ foyer of Stark tower with a personal passcode that Bucky thought maybe he was in too deep.

 

Fake dating some greasy 23 year old dude who was totally straight and looking to fuck with his family was do-able.  Fake dating a 30 year old career driven lady who just wanted to be single and keep her colleagues off her back was fine.  Fake dating a cute 25 year old gal who was trying to show her extremely religious and conservative parents how bad it _really could be_ was fucking great.   But.  Fake dating a could-be-18-could-be-25, cute as fuck guy with serious personal connections to a legitimate billionaire, and – at most – one degree of separation from someone on the Brooklyn city council was way beyond his range of expertise, honestly.

 

They rode the elevator in silence for much longer than was comfortable.  All of the chrome paneling on the walls distorting their reflections didn’t make it less awkward.  “Remember when they used to play music in these things?”  Bucky said.  “What happened to the good old days am I right?”

 

Steve snorted and said, “Sure, Bucky.”  Then after a pause he said, “I don’t think you’d want Tony to put music in his elevators.  It would probably be Metallica.”

 

“Well it would fit the decor,” Bucky said and lifted his gaze to the _actually_ holographic floor numbers above the doors climbing higher and higher, well into the double digits now, and ironically designed to emulate a retro flip timer.

 

“Listen,” Steve said and shifted slowly from one foot to the other.  “I’m sorry I didn’t exactly make it clear earlier who was hosting this.  If you’re not comfortable being here, just say the word.  It’s not too late if you want to back out.  Its fine, I promise.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky turned his head and cracked a smile at Steve.  “You are _paying_ me to party in some billionaire’s pent house for a weekend.  So I may be a little out of my depth.  There is still _no way_ I’m passing this up.”

 

Steve let out, quite frankly, a _huge_ breath, and said, “Alright.  Okay.”  And then hesitantly, “if you’re sure,” right before the doors opened onto an obscenely wide expanse of post-modern chrome framed couches gathered around a TV as big as one side of Bucky’s entire apartment, complete with a fully stocked, backlit bar and counter on the other end of the room.  He did not fail to note the window lined wall opposite him which gave him a clear view of the pool, full patio, grill, and _another_ bar on the roof outside, either.  It did however take him a moment to realize that there was a strawberry blond haired woman in front of him smiling at Steve and speaking real English words.

 

“-you Steve!  It feels like it’s been ages.” She said, smiling and letting Steve out of an apparent hug that had happened inches away from Bucky without his notice.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking like maybe it really _had_ been ages and he was slightly ashamed of it.  “Uh, Pepper, this is Bucky, my – um – my –,”

 

“Boyfriend,” Bucky said, reaching out a hand.

 

“Oh!” Pepper took his hand immediately.  “Wonderful, it’s a pleasure, Bucky.” Her smile was unnervingly sincere and she reminded Bucky a little bit of a mom.  Not like a real mom though, like an _everyman’s_ mom which made Bucky simultaneously uncomfortable and endeared.  “I’m Pepper.  Tony is around here somewhere – _Tony!_ ” Bucky flinched slightly at the sudden and sheer volume of Pepper’s voice.  “ _Steve’s here!”_

 

“Steve?”  Tony Stark’s actual head popped around the corner of the wall closest to Bucky and the rest of him quickly followed, holding a greasy towel.  “Steve!” he said, and spread his arms out like he was making to hug Steve.  He didn’t though, merely walked over and then let his arms fall again.  “What are you doing here it’s only seven.”

 

“You said the party started at seven, Tony.” Steve said.

 

“Yeah I didn’t expect you to actually _show up_ at seven.”

 

Pepper then cleared her throat and said, “ _Tony_ , Steve brought a guest.  Maybe you should introduce yourself?”

 

Tony turned to her with a scandalized expression and said in mock horror, “I would _never._ ”  Then he looked at Steve, stuffing his dirty rag into the belt of his pants, and said, “Steve, are you going to introduce me to your new muscle or what?  Come on.”

 

Steve looked slightly pained, but seemed to swallow whatever he was thinking about saying and instead said, “Tony this is Bucky, Bucky this is Tony Stark.”

 

Bucky saw his opening and took it, extending his left hand before Tony could extend his right.  “Great to finally meet you,” Bucky said.

 

The hand adequately threw Tony off for a second when he noticed the metal on Bucky’s fingers catch in the ceiling lights and his expression fell slack.  “Where did you get that?” Tony said, his own hand stuck in mid-air.

 

“Oh,” Bucky said, and rolled up his cuff, exposing the slim metal plates on his wrist and forearm.  “This?”

 

“Yes.  That.  The extremely beautiful, wildly advanced, definitely not on the market, prosthetic arm you have attached to your body.  Where did you get it?”

 

“Microcenter.” Bucky said and shrugged.

 

Tony stared at him.  His hand dropped.  “Funny,” he said.

 

Steve coughed – a poorly disguised laugh.

 

Something chirped and Pepper said, “Oh!” and pulled what could only be a _clear glass_ cell phone from her pocket.  “That’s Maria, I’ll be right back,” she said and turned away, wandering into the sunken living room.

 

“Where did you get it.” Tony asked again.  “Who made it for you.  Was it A.I.M.?  It was A.I.M. wasn’t it?”

 

“I don’t think AOL Instant Messenger made my prosthetic arm,” Bucky said.

 

Tony squinted at him.  “I see how it is,” he said.  “Alright funny guy.  You win this round, but-,” he held up a finger and pointed it directly at Bucky’s arm.  “I can’t promise you I won’t dissect that arm if I don’t get the answers I want from you before this party is over.”

 

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve said at the exact same time that the elevator dinged open behind them and someone yelled, “You can start the party, Tony, because it has finally arrived!”

 

Tony ignored Steve, and instead said, “Wilson!  What are you doing here?  Why is everyone showing up to my party on time?  What’s wrong with you people?”

 

“I brought fluffernutters.”

 

“Sam!” Steve said, turning around to face this newcomer, “This is my boyfriend.”

 

Bucky turned around with him and extended a hand, “Bucky,” he said.

 

Sam had to switch the literal platter of sandwiches he was holding in both hands to one so he could shake Bucky’s.  “Sam Wilson,” he said, revealing an upsettingly adorable gap-toothed smile.  It seemed as though Steve knew exclusively good looking people and, despite his formal attire, Bucky was feeling grubbier and grubbier by the second.  Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, considering his job description.

  
“What’s a fluffernutter?”  Bucky asked.  Bucky did actually know, vaguely, what a fluffernutter was, but the question was a ruse and it got him the exact response he had been hoping for.

 

“Oh.   Oh _hell no._ ”  Sam said and began hastily tearing at the plastic wrap that had been haphazardly stretched over the top of his platter.  He took a sandwich off the top and handed it to Bucky.  “Don’t thank me,” he said.  “I’m just a humble man doing God’s work the best way I know how.”

 

“Uh, thanks,” Bucky said anyway and accepted the sandwich.

 

“What did I just say?” Sam said.

 

Bucky took a bite.  Chewed.  Swallowed.  “It’s okay?” he said.  It was fucking delicious.

 

“What.” Sam said.

 

“That’s _exactly_ what I said!” Tony yelled, throwing his hands up.  “There are at least ten ways to improve that sandwich.”  He began counting ingredients off on his fingers, “Nutella, hot fudge – any chocolate really – something crunchy to add texture, cinnamon graham crackers would do but I’m sure I could come up with something better.  Listen, give me an hour, I’d make the fluffernutter illegal in twelve states.”

 

“I hate both of you.  The fluffernutter is perfect exactly the way it is,” Sam said and then pointed to Bucky, “You’re on my list.”  He then turned to Steve.  “How could you date this guy?”

 

Steve shrugged and extended his hand, making a beckoning gesture with his fingers and raising his eyebrows.

 

“You don’t deserve this,” Sam said, but gave Steve a sandwich anyway. 

 

Steve smiled and thanked him just as Pepper returned from the living room with a grin on her face.  “Sam!” she said.  “Did I hear you brought fluffernutters?”

 

“Sure did.  Here,” Sam handed her a fluffernutter and she beamed.

 

“You’re a sweetheart,” she said.

 

Sam winked at her, “I do what I can.”

 

 “Maria’s on her way, but she’s still stuck in traffic so she says she and Nick will be a bit late.” Pepper said.

 

“Couslon?” Tony asked.

 

“Well, Tony.  Phil still lives in Portland with Audrey, just like he did last year, and the year before that so, no.  He’s not coming.” Pepper patted him on the shoulder and gave a smile that was decidedly less gentle than the smiles Bucky had seen from her thus far. “But they did send us that lovely card, remember?”

 

“Oh yes,” Tony said. “The card.”

 

“It was very thoughtful of them.  I wrote back for you.”

 

“You shouldn’t have.” Tony said.

 

“So is anyone going to actually _do_ anything at this party?” A voice across the room yelled.

 

“What the hell?” Tony said, and spun around to face the room.

 

“Because you guys have been standing there for fifteen plus minutes talking about literally nothing, and there is a _full bar_ over here.”

 

“How did you get in here?”  Tony yelled back.  “When?”

 

“I came with Nat,” The guy pointed across the room to the couches and a hand shot up and gave a little wave over the back of one.

 

“ _When?_ ” Tony said.

 

“They got here while you were still down in the shop.” Pepper said.

 

“They came _early_?” Tony exclaimed.

 

“Wilson,” The hand above the couch snapped its fingers.  “Bring me one of those fluffernutters,” it said.  “Rogers, bring me that boyfriend.”

 

Steve let out a long breath and then said, “Well, this is it.”  He turned to look at Bucky who smiled and offered his arm to Steve.  Steve took it with a sigh and muttered, “Good luck,” under his breath in probably the least reassuring tone anyone had ever said the words.

 

They walked across the foyer and into the sunken living room with Sam trailing behind them.  He sat down next to Natasha and handed her the entire platter of fluffernutters.  Bucky took the opportunity to observe her while she carefully straightened and folded the plastic wrap covering the sandwiches.  She had presence.  That much was obvious already.  Steve seemed to be if not afraid of her, at least slightly nervous around her in this particular situation, if his grip on the inside of Bucky’s elbow was anything to go by.  Sam seemed relaxed, though, smiling easily as he reclined next to her.

 

She looked up once she had finished retrieving her sandwich from the platter.  “So,” she said.  “You’re Steve’s mysterious boyfriend?”

 

“I don’t know how mysterious I am,” Bucky said and unlinked his arm from Steve’s so he could extended his hand.  “Bucky Barnes.”

 

“Natasha Romanov,” Natasha said, and squeezed Bucky’s hand so hard he was afraid she might have cracked a few small bones.  “So, Bucky, you live around Manhattan?”

 

“Uh, Brooklyn, actually.” Bucky said.

 

Steve made a choked noise and when Bucky looked over at him his face was whiter than the marshmallow cream in Sam’s fluffernutters.

 

“Huh,” Natasha said, and took a bite of her own fluffernutter.  “That’s funny.”  She turned her gaze to Steve who was staring resolutely past her, at the bar on the other side of the room.  “Steve told me you were from New Jersey.”

 

“O-oh yeah?  Well, that’s where we, um, met?” Bucky said, looking desperately at Steve who nodded slightly without looking away from the bar.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said.

 

“I moved to Brooklyn about a month ago.”  Bucky said.

 

“So you _met_ in New Jersey.”  Natasha said.

 

“Yep,” Bucky said.

 

“Are you sure?  Because it sounded like a question when you said it.”

 

Bucky laughed.  “Yeah I’m sure?  I always say stuff like it’s a question?” he said.  “It’s like – that’s-,” Bucky cleared his throat.  “It’s my… thing.

 

“Ah huh,” Natasha took another bite of her fluffernutter.  “So how did you meet?”

 

Steve opened his mouth to answer but Natasha cut him off, “I’m asking Bucky, Rodgers.”  Steve shut his mouth.

 

“We met online,” Bucky said.

 

“You met online, in New Jersey.  You know Steve lives in Brooklyn?”

 

“Yeah, we met online first, and then in person… in New Jersey.”

 

Natasha said nothing after this.  She did however recline against the back of the couch, and Sam who had sat in silent but rapt attention during the entire exchange whistled loudly.

 

“Steve, I gotta piss.  Can you show me where the bathroom is in this place?” Bucky said.

 

“Yes, absolutely,” Steve nodded and began tugging him toward the hallway that Tony had emerged from when they first arrived.

 

Natasha called after them, “Take all the time you need to corroborate your stories, boys.  I’ll be right here.”

 

Steve led them all the way down the hallway, which was mostly barren save for a windowed wall on one side, and a door every fifteen feet or so, and then ducked into a room that had Steve’s name on a nameplate _on the door_.

 

“I’ll ask you why you’ve got your own room in Tony Stark’s penthouse later.” Bucky said.  “Right now I’d like to know why you didn’t tell me one of your friends was planning a fucking FBI investigation of our fake relationship.”

 

Steve turned around to face him after closing the door “I did not think she was actually going to do that.”  He said.  And then, “I’m really sorry…”

 

“Wow.  Okay, so what are we supposed to do now?  There is no way she’s going to believe I’m your boyfriend after that fucking display.”

 

“How am I supposed to know?” Steve said, hunching his shoulders and gesturing to himself.  “I thought you did this for a living?”

 

“They’re _your_ friends!  Think of something!”

 

Steve did, staring at the pale, birch wood flooring for a moment with his hand on his chin, before he said, “We’re gonna have to kiss.” With grim and frankly scary resolve.

 

“I’m not kissing you.  It’s in the rules, remember?”

 

Steve huffed and looked up at Bucky who swore that if Steve’s eyes got any brighter they would burst into flames.  “I’ll pay you an extra hundred bucks.”

 

“I ain’t kissin’ you pal.  No deal.”

 

Steve kept staring at him for a moment and then ducked his head, “No… no, you’re right.  I’m sorry… I should never have asked you that.”

 

“Jesus,” Bucky breathed.  “Look, I won’t kiss you, but we’re here all night right?  If you’re talking an extra hundred bucks, I’ll fake have sex with you tonight.”

 

Steve’s head whipped up so fast Bucky was afraid it might snap right off his neck.  “What?  No!  Wait- you won’t kiss me, but you’d have _fake sex_ with me?”

 

“In a room with no audience or actual romantic action?  And for a hundred bucks?  Hell yeah.”

 

Steve gave him a bewildered look and said, “Okay well, either way, that’s not going to fly.  I would never have sex with someone in my friend’s house, and while Tony would probably be ecstatic, Nat’s never going to buy it.”

 

Bucky groaned and waved his hands around in a frantic gesture, “ _Well_?”

 

“Okay, okay,” Steve said.  “New plan…  Just-just get them to like you.”

 

“I thought the whole point of this was to get ‘em to hate me?” Bucky said.

 

“Well, yeah but now that Nat knows something’s up she’ll never fall for that.  Our best hope is to get her to like you enough to forget about the fact that I lied to her.  So…”  Steve stared at Bucky’s shoes and let a long puff of air out of his mouth.  Bucky watched the top of his head silently with his arms crossed. “Okay, first thing’s first:  Fix that disaster you created with the fluffernutters.”

  
“ _What_?” Bucky said.  “That was great.  I did a _great job_ with the fluffernutters.”

 

Steve snorted. “Yeah, sure, if you were looking to start World War III with Sam.”

 

“Again,” Bucky said and uncrossed his arms to wave them at Steve for a second time, “I thought that was the point.”

 

“Well, it’s not the point anymore.”  Steve said.  “And you’re going to have to drink Natasha under the table if you want her to like you at all at this point.”

 

Bucky opened his mouth to tell Steve that there was no way he was about to break his sobriety for a couple hundred dollars but Steve held up a hand to silence him before he could and said, “I know you don’t drink.  I’ll make sure everything you get is virgin.  But you’ll have to sell it.”

 

“Jesus Christ this is just like Ocean’s Eleven except you’re George Clooney and I’m all ten of the other guys.”

 

Steve looked up at this and gave him an odd squinty eyed look.  “And my friends are what?  The casinos?”

 

“Yes, exactly.”  Bucky said.  “That’s exactly right.”

 

Steve made some kind of noise like he was annoyed but a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, well, in any case, you’re going to have to chat up Clint.  Tell him your life story or something, he’ll fall in love with you.  Do not mention Thor’s brother, Loki.  Act respectfully frightened around Fury, but stand your ground if he challenges you on an opinion.  He won’t like you if he thinks you’re wishy-washy.”

 

“God,” Bucky said

 

“Let Tony get a look at your arm – if, I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

 

“ _God,_ ” Bucky said.

 

“And just be generally charming and witty around everyone else.  You’ll probably be fine.”

 

“Great,” Bucky said, only partly insincerely.

 

“You ready?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said.  “Why the hell not?  Let me at ‘em.”

 

“Alright, let’s go.”  Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and opened the door.

 

“And just for the record,” Bucky said once they were out in the hallway again.  “I do _not_ do this for a living.”


End file.
